


always the right hand

by PidgesBayard



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cheesy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Kissing, Light Smut, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Neck Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Trauma, allura is only briefly mentioned but shes a queen now, i suppose? theres no actual onscreen smut its just lots of feeling and kissing, k/l are older in this fic, keith is 23 and lance is 22 probably, the other characters are only briefly mentioned so im not tagging them, this is super cheesy but it's better than hardcore angst, thus still boyfriends and not married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PidgesBayard/pseuds/PidgesBayard
Summary: The hand intertwined in his was Keith’s right hand. Always his right hand. Maybe because although Keith was ambidextrous he always favoured his right slightly so for combat, thus it felt more natural to offer that hand for activities such as hand holding.Or perhaps it was because his left hand was composed entirely of metal.





	always the right hand

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: there's mentions of trauma (losing of limbs, emotional trauma) in this fic, as well as some light smut. There's nothing explicit, but there is plenty of kissing and cheesy fluff, just in case that's not your thing!

Exhaling softly, Lance snuggled further into the warm body directly behind him. Keith’s firm muscles provided a cushiony pillow for Lance to lean his back against. His boyfriend’s arms embraced him tightly, entrapping them both in enough shared body heat that Keith had abandoned his shirt long ago. Lance would have shrugged his shirt off too, if Keith didn’t whine and protest every time Lance moved so much as an inch away from him.

From the soft breathing tickling his ear, Lance deduced Keith was still asleep. Rare was the occurrence when they were permitted to have a decent night’s sleep and not be called to training, diplomatic meetings, or whatever else their queen Allura required of her Paladins. After spending their day off with the rest of their fellow Paladins, Lance and his boyfriend retreated to their bedroom to spend the remainder of their break cuddling in the comfort of their shared bed. Lance suspected neither of them would rise before noon.

Lance had little wiggle room in Keith’s embrace – not that he was complaining – so he couldn’t roll over to observe Keith’s sleeping form. He looked instead to the hand clutching his own, the hand belonging to the arm Keith draped over his boyfriend. The space between Lance’s fingers, he mused, seemed sculpted perfectly for Keith’s fingers to fill. He tightened the grip between their hands just a little, and perhaps Keith was not actually slumbering after all, since his thumb began tracing lazy circles on the back of Lance’s palm.

The hand intertwined in his was Keith’s right hand. Always his right hand. Maybe because although Keith was ambidextrous he always favoured his right slightly so for combat, thus it felt more natural to offer that hand for activities such as hand holding.

Or perhaps it was because his left hand was composed entirely of metal.

Lance squinted beneath the blanket sheltering the embraced couple. He couldn’t quite make out the arm buried underneath him, positioned so that the prosthetic Keith bore wasn’t touching him. Although he couldn’t currently see it, Lance could picture it clearly. The prosthetic reached up to Keith’s elbow, where metal ended and greeted flesh and bone.

Unlike their Black Paladin, who lost his arm in a similar fashion, Keith’s arm was not of Galra design and origin. It had been Coran who designed him that prosthetic, so it sported Altean colors of white and highlights of blue and yellow. From that moment onward, Lace held a deep sense of gratitude towards the elderly Altean for manufacturing the arm for Keith after that horrible battle.

The skirmish between scattered Galra forces still loyal to the fallen Zarkon was supposed to have been a quick mission, with the skilled Paladins hardly outnumbered. Lance remembered the entire wretched day as thought it’d been yesterday, despite occurring nearly two months ago.  The Paladins prepared themselves for combat that day as always, but they had no way of predicting what was to come. They had no way of knowing one Galra rebel would detect a tiny gap in Keith’s defenses, that it would be enough to knock the Red Paladin off his feet, that no matter how hard the other Paladins fought to rush to his aid, no matter how loud Lance’s screams were, it was not enough to stop the Galra rebel from unsheathing his blade and bringing it down with a sickening _crunch_ as Keith’s arm-

Lance jammed his eyes shut, his body flinching at the memory. It haunted him and his dreams ever since, that terrible final snapping of bone echoing forever in his ears. He knew it haunted Keith as well. Most of the nights since that mission that they were permitted to sleep in their bed, the body beside Lance awoke with a strangled gasp as he fumbled for the arm that was no longer there. The only remedy for the nightmares was Lance’s fingers stroking Keith’s hair and soothing whispers of reassurance.

Behind him there was a wakening stir, and lips soon found the curve of his ear. “What’s wrong, babe?”

The nickname alone was enough to cause Lance to blush; how many years of them together, and silly, cheesy pet names still reduced him to that? He shrugged off the lingering troubles at the back of his mind and nestled into his pillow under the pretense of returning to sleep. “Nothing.”

“Babe.” Keith freed his hand from Lance’s and stroked it down Lance’s side, resting it on his hip. The tone of voice he used was serious enough that Lance craned his neck to look over his shoulder.

“Bad dreams?”

Keith wasn’t the only one plagued with nightmares of the past and war; all the Paladins suffered from it, whether all of them admitted to it or not. Lance endured it too – trapped in dreams of war, of bloody battle and raw death, shrieking at the Galra claws tearing him apart until gentle, loving hands held him and brushed the nightmares away.

“You could say that.”

Keith kissed underneath Lance’s earlobe. “What about?”

Only then did Lance advert his gaze. He knew that if he truly wished to avoid the subject, Keith would respect that and not press any further. He knew that, and yet for some reason he couldn’t fathom, Lance licked his lips and looked back at his boyfriend. “You don’t want to know.”

The look in Keith’s eyes hardened. “That day.”

Guilt racked Lance. What an idiot he was, for admitting it out loud. He rolled onto his opposite side to face Keith, welcoming the arms adjusting to hold his hips.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it when-“

“Lance.” Keith silenced him, brushing a strand of his soft brown hair out of his eyes. Lance snuggled closer to him, longing again for the warmth of Keith’s body.

He didn’t know why, but he reached down to free Keith’s arm from underneath his torso. The metal of the prosthetic was too smooth, too cold, too unflawed to the touch to be mistaken for flesh. Although Keith watched him with some level of interest, he didn’t protest as Lance interlocked his fingers with those of the prosthetic, his fingertips sliding over the metal surface.

_You don’t ever touch me with this hand._

He didn’t speak the words aloud, for fear of Keith interpreting them as an accusation. It was always the right hand – to push his bangs back from his eyes during training, to shake the outstretched hand of a new diplomatic leader, to clutch Lance’s hand in his own. That left hand remained limp at Keith’s side, hidden in a pocket when the option was available, tucked behind his back in a pretense of good form during political meetings.

Nobody called Keith out on it – to do so would be too cruel. But they all noticed it. They all noticed it always being the right hand.

It had become something of an unspoken problem – Keith didn’t want to discuss it, and Lance didn’t ever know what to say. He reached out for the wrong hand once. Once his fingers brushed against Keith’s left hand, an invitation to clasp palms and fingers. Keith withdrew his hand as though the touch physically burned him, and the look in his eyes ensured Lance would never make the same mistake twice.

But now, Lance could feel a sense of surrender from his boyfriend. Perhaps it was too early in the morning for Keith to bother protesting – or maybe he was done hiding it. Even after all these years of being together, Lance still couldn’t figure him one hundred percent all of the time.  

“Can I... what does it feel like?” Lance grounded out. He knew that if he crossed any sort of line, Keith would inform him. He trusted his partner enough to know that.

For a second he believed that would happen. Keith looked as though he was going to politely lecture him for asking such pressing questions at who-knows-what-time in the morning, but... there was that look of defeat again.

“It feels... like an arm. It functions almost no differently from the other one,” Keith answered. As if to prove his point, he bent his fingers to fill the gaps between Lance’s. Lance ordered himself not to blink – without a doubt, it was the first time he’s held the prosthetic hand, aside from the endless nights he wasted time and tears clutching it while it’s owner rested in the hospital wing.

“But it _feels_ different. Sometimes I look at it, and it still doesn’t feel like a part of my body,” Keith said. Lance just nodded; there’s no way in any universe he could even hope to fully understand.

“Does it hurt?” Lance asked, taming his features to be neutral. The conversation between them was revolutionary after two months of understandable silence on Keith’s part, but he didn’t want to pressure his partner.

“All the time,” Keith sighed, suddenly looking wearier than ever. “I wake up every damn night feeling like it’s there, like it’s on fire. Shiro told me that’s normal.”

The confession was enough to yank on Lance’s heartstrings. He was never present for those hushed talks between Red and Black Paladin, the rare, infrequent moments where Keith actually opened up to someone. He understood it to be a private matter between the both of them. All Lance cared about that there was at least someone who could not only sympathize but truly understand Keith’s plight.

The pillow beneath him flattened as he pressed his cheek against it. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Lance took a deep, shuddering breath. This wasn’t about him; far from it. But if they’re here, finally confessing their thoughts on the matter to each other...

“I could’ve stopped it.”

Keith’s eyes hardened and his voice followed suit. “Lance-“

“I _should_ have stopped it. I was right _there,_ but I- I wasn’t _fast_ enough-“

Barely seven feet. He’d been about seven feet away when that Galra rebel rid Keith of his arm, after Lance fought tooth and nail in a desperate attempt to rush to his boyfriend’s side, taking out any Galra that got in his way. He only knew the precise measurement because the number echoed in his brain for the entire week of waiting by Keith’s bedside, that vicious voice consistently whispering in his ear how _close_ he had been, that if he hadn’t been so _stupid_ and _weak,_ he might’ve reached Keith in time.

Keith tucked another strand of Lance’s hair out of his eyes, using his right hand, although this time it may be due to Lance clutching his left. Lance hoped he wasn’t crying; the last thing he needed was for Keith to fuss and insist on comforting him, because this wasn’t about Lance. _He_ wasn’t the one that lost his arm.

“You know I don’t blame you, or Shiro, or anyone else,” Keith said, rubbing his hand down Lance’s side.

Why would he blame anyone else? Lance had been useless, utterly _useless,_ once he heard that gut wrenching crunch of bone. He didn’t even know which Paladin took out the offending Galra; he had been busy falling to his knees, shaking and screaming and wailing as there was blood everywhere, on the floor and on him and all over Keith. It was then Lance owed even more gratitude to his fellow Paladins, as the Yellow Paladin wisely removed the hysterical, frantic Blue Paladin from the scene while the Black Paladin patched up the Red Paladin and carried him to safety.

Keith was alive because of them. Not Lance. Lance had done _nothing._

“I know,” Lance said, immediately wincing at the emotional crack in his voice.

Keith’s right hand moved to hold the small of Lance’s back and pulled him closer, pressing his lips against his. The kiss was much briefer than Lance would’ve liked, but he didn’t persist any longer when Keith pulled away seconds later.

Keith’s gaze fell again to their intertwined hands. The thumb of his prosthetic rubbed the back of Lance’s hand, a small yet comforting gesture to help ease some of the ache in his chest.

“Do you hate it?” Keith asked, squeezing Lance’s palm. He flicked his gaze to his hand again.

“I mean, does it... bother you to look at it?”

Lance’s heart sank even further. Releasing his fingers from Keith’s grip, he gently ran his fingertips down the sleek metal of the prosthetic. The abundance of scars where skin and metal met were obvious to the eye now that Keith lacked a shirt or jacket to cover them up.

“Of course not,” Lance murmured. Although the prosthetic was a daily reminder that he’d failed to protect his boyfriend... Lance would never hate the sight of it. It was a part of Keith now, and there wasn’t an inch of Keith’s body that Lance did not adore.

For a moment, Keith remained in deep thought and silence, before nudging Lance onto his back. He moved his arm onto the other side of Lance, leaning over him. Lance complied and rested back onto the pillow.

“I wouldn’t be offended if it did,” Keith breathed, kissing Lance softly. It was one of the rare moments Keith’s emotions leaked into his voice. He sounded so miserable that Lance pushed his shoulders back to peer into his eyes.

“Keith,” Lance solemnly said, his fingers playing with strands of Keith’s hair. That stupid mullet he insisted on keeping had grown even longer over the years.

“I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that,” Lance promised. He brushed his hand down Keith’s broad shoulder to feel the metal below it, and his heart no longer skipped a beat at feeling flesh first and metal second. No, it didn’t bother him – and maybe one day, it wouldn’t bother Keith, either.

The edges of Keith’s eyes crinkled as he kissed his boyfriend again, soft at first then gradually turning needy. Lance curled strands of Keith’s hair around his fingertips.

Leaning back just enough so that they were still pressed close together, Keith asked, “How hard was that week?”

“Hard.” Lance swallowed heavily, fighting against the hints of tears in the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t ever remember a worse week in his entire life – it had felt like an eternity. Most of the hellish week had been spent with Lance pacing the floor, desperate to crawl out of his skin to flee from the emotional rampage inside of him, tearing his heart apart. He could still remember every detail of that room, every smell and sound of blood and medicine and painful coughing and feet shuffling on hard tile floors.

“I thought you were gone. I thought I’d lost you.”

Lance tilted his chin up, trembling slightly under the effort of not crying. Keith lowered his head, trailing loving kisses down Lance’s neck. His right hand reached up to caress Lance’s cheek, ridding him of the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

“You didn’t. I’m here,” Keith murmured into his neck. Lance just hummed; it was hard to form proper words when Keith’s lips were on his skin. Keith’s warm breath wafted onto his skin, and in spite of the heat entrapped between them, a slight shiver ran up Lance’s spine.

Keith’s right hand crawled down to the helm of Lance’s shirt, pushing the fabric up to allow access to what was underneath. The hand smoothing up the plane of his torso felt good, but Lance couldn’t help to glance to the left hand, positioned near his head.

It was as if Keith understood him, without his needing to utter a single word. Keith kissed his neck again and leaned back, following Lance’s line of sight to his left hand.

Lance felt, rather than saw, Keith inhale a deep breathe and remove his weight from his left hand. Lance untangled one hand from Keith’s messy black locks and soothingly griped his left hand, moving it join Keith’s other at the helm of his own shirt.

Quickly, Keith’s violet eyes searched for his. “Are you sure?”

Lance clasped both hands on Keith’s cheeks again and pulled him in for another loving kiss. “You know I’m not afraid of it.”

Keith’s lips found his again, and he eventually worked up the courage to slip his left hand underneath Lance’s shirt. The sensation of glossy metal sliding down his bare skin sent him shivering. Immediately Keith jerked his left hand away.

“No, hey,” Lance whispered, taking his hand again. He moved his fingers from playing with Keith’s hair to brush against his cheek.

“That was good, I promise.”

When Keith paused again, Lance tugged him down for another kiss. He curled his toes into the mattress beneath them, all kinds of emotions exploding inside at feeling of Keith’s lips, his tongue. He was near breathless when Keith broke apart for air.

Lance placed a kiss on Keith’s cheek. “Baby, do you want to stop?”

Keith shook his head and kissed him back. His hands returned to Lance’s torso, the touch from his left hand so feather light Lance could hardly feel it. Keith ran his hands up Lance’s body again, this time pulling up his shirt with him. Lance lifted his arms above his head to allow Keith to tug his shirt off and toss it aside, removing the last barrier between them.

Entangling his fingers in Keith’s hair again, Lance nearly lost himself in Keith’s lips. Any of his rational thoughts seemed to utterly vanish when they were so wrapped up in one another like this. Lance was acutely aware of the metal hand slipping down his body, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

After a chunk of time Lance didn’t keep track of, the hands exploring his body ceased. The smooth metal resting on his hip pulled back, heading for his face... and then halted. Keith curled back his fingers, as if catching himself. A crooked smile crossed Lance’s lips.

 “Hey,” Lance said softly, to catch Keith’s attention. _God,_ those violet eyes, large and radiant and brimming with emotion when Keith allowed himself. They had been all Lance could think about, that hellish week of hopeless waiting in a hospital wing. Every moment he couldn’t see those eyes widened the crack in his heart all the more, until those violet eyes finally managed to snap open, their owner demanding to know where the _hell_ he was in typical Keith fashion.

Keith’s right hand had its grip on him now, on his hip. The left hand still hesitated, so Lance lifted his own and squeezed it, guiding it to finish its path to his cheek. His heart melted in his chest as the metal prosthetic caressed his cheek, sandwiched between Lance’s own hand. As flesh and metal pressed together, he could swear the shiny metal surface was no longer cold.

Keith’s hesitation vanished as Lance brought his lips to his metal hand, kissing it the same as he would Keith's right hand. Lance could practically feel the electricity shooting through his boyfriend at the contact. Rubbing Keith’s left hand with his fingertips, Lance looked up at him through his eyelashes, and noticed Keith’s breath hitching in his throat.

Lance indicated with one hand for his boyfriend to come closer, and Keith obeyed. This time, he placed his weight on his right hand, steadying himself as he wrapped his left arm around Lance.

And it was that small yet momentous movement that made Lance’s heart beat with utter _love,_ even more so when Keith leaned in to capture his lips again. Lance threw his arms around Keith’s neck, relishing in the feel of the left hand tucked underneath him, Keith’s right hand brushing up to cup his cheek.

It had always been that right hand.

But maybe in the future, it could be the left hand as well.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a quick little drabble I came up with yesterday after observing some angsty Voltron headcannons on tumblr, so I wanted to write it between larger projects! It's rather cheesy, but was a treat to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as well!  
> Thank you for reading <3


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